


Just A Little Fire

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance, S5 Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike deals with the aftermath of an apartment fire, while both he and Harvey deal with changes at the firm</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Little Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during season 5, but with different outcomes, and Rachel out of the picture.

Harvey sniffed, and then sniffed the air again. There it was. Smoke. Faint but distinct, as if Mike had been somewhere in the vicinity of a fire recently. Odd.

Now that Harvey looked more closely at the man sitting across the desk from him, he realized he wore the same suit from yesterday, creased with wrinkles. Dark circles (darker than usual) ringed his eyes.

Harvey held up a hand, halting Mike's rambling recitation of his findings on the McGee briefs. "What the hell is going on with you today?"

Mike blinked at him, and then he sighed and slid his gaze to the side. "It's not a big deal, and I promise it won't affect my work."

Harvey waited. After Mike had been silent too long, he made a brusque " _come on, out with it"_ motion with one hand.

Another weary sigh from Mike was followed by a manic spill of words. "My place kind of, sort of, burned down last night. It happened while I was here, working late. No one was hurt. My downstairs neighbor had a bunch of papers and shit sitting on his stove, and thinks the cat somehow accidentally nudged something and turned on one of the burners. My insurance company got me set up in a hotel last night, and I've already received an advance for living expenses and replacement of essentials. So I'm fine."

Mike leaned back in his chair, finally meeting Harvey's eyes, and appearing nervous, as if he was fearful that Harvey would find a way to place the blame on him for this. Did Mike really think him that lacking in compassion?

"How much did you lose?"

Pain clouded Mike's face. "Nearly everything. The kitchen went up in flames. Nothing salvageable there. All of the furniture is steeped in smoke and soaked in filthy water, and needs to be trashed. The heat did this weird thing and traveled through the ceiling and walls and melted all my artwork and hanging lamps. Some of my clothes might be okay eventually. They stink badly of smoke, but my insurance guy gave me the name of a place that specializes in cleaning smoke out of fabrics. It's covered by my policy, so …"

Mike shrugged. For a few seconds it seemed as if he had nothing more to say on the subject, but then he grimaced, mouth pinching in at the corners. "It's just that all my old photographs are gone. There was a box on the kitchen table and – _whoosh._ " He shook his head, as if he could not wrap his head around it. "I bought this photo album, maybe eight or nine months ago. I was going to fill it with photos. Before Rachel. Ah, before we … "

"Before you broke up," Harvey prompted gently. Mike hadn't discussed it with him at the time, had simply given him the basic outline, but Harvey had seen the way the loss had eaten at him. An all too familiar tightness gripped Mike's features now.

"Yeah. It was going to be for our kids. Assuming we ever had any. Pictures of my childhood, and my parents. Grammy." His voice caught on the last word and he gave his head a swift shake. "So. Anyway. McGee."

"Mike, if you need to take the rest of the day, it's fine with me."

"I said this won't affect my work, and I meant it." He stared directly at Harvey, blue eyes shining with an emotion that looked close to anger.

Harvey considered insisting that Mike go deal with his issues, but something in his expression warned him to let it go, and let Mike handle it in his own way. "Fine," he said after a minute, and gestured at the papers in front of Mike. "Tell me what else you found."

 

*****

 

Mike had been given permission to enter his ruined apartment, to take away anything he wanted to keep, and to make a list, for insurance purposes, of replacement value for all that he had lost. He changed out of his suit and into some of his brand new clothes. He'd used part of the insurance advance to buy two sets -- jeans, t-shirt, underwear, socks -- and one off-the-rack suit that he suspected Harvey would despise. He could only hope that the cleaning company could save his expensive, smoke-scented suits. The thought of laying out another obscene amount of cash for suits, even using insurance money, made him ill.

Only two units -- his and the one belonging to the neighbor with the arsonist cat -- had sustained more than superficial damage. More inspections needed to be made, and findings reached, but Dave, his insurance guy, felt that between his coverage, his neighbor's, and the building's, he could expect his apartment to be completely rebuilt, from the studs in. If it took longer than expected, his relocation insurance would keep him in a hotel for a few months. It would be quick, though, he was certain. On television, renovations like this were routinely completed between one commercial break and the next.

He stepped through the front door and froze, the wreckage overwhelming him for a moment. He'd had a quick peek last night, before they ordered him out of the building, but that had only given him the briefest of snapshots. Now he treated himself to the whole, slow motion, extreme close-up, stomach churning main feature.

He noted again the phenomenon of melted pictures and lamps where the heat and flames had traveled behind walls and ceiling. A thick chemical smell gagged him and he pulled his t-shirt up so that it covered his lower face, in an attempt to block out the worst of the smell.

Everywhere he looked he saw destruction. The television screen was blackened and spider webbed with cracks. His bike, leaning against one wall, had been in one of those unpredictable, super-heated spots, and the metal had fused together and warped. Globs of plastic from the overhead lamp had rained down and adhered to the handlebars.

The bookcases against the far wall drew him and he picked his way carefully across waterlogged carpet and buckled hardwood floors to stare sadly at the ruined collection of books. They hadn't burned, but soot blacked the edges, and when he riffled the pages of a few of them experimentally, they looked as if they'd been buried in charcoal for a few decades. They stank, like everything else in the place, and turned his palms black as he handled them.

He scanned the shelves of several hundred titles for any that he couldn't bear to let go, but ultimately found it impossible to choose. He couldn't take the whole nasty mess, that much was clear. All he wanted was a memento or two, not for the words they contained, which he could easily recite from memory. He would miss the feel of them, the heft, the (pre-smoke) scent, the rub of paper under his fingers, and the physical bulwark they had provided against the world, the collection always growing and expanding and adding weight to his life.

As he dumped Dickens and Austen and Ellison and Rowling and Vonnegut onto the floor, he remembered the last time he'd moved, which had been into this apartment with Rachel. At the time, he'd moaned about all of the boxes of books he'd had to lug from the rental truck, and complained at length to Rachel about how weighted down he'd become with _things._

Now this sudden, utter lack of belongings planted cold fear inside his chest. With no piles of things -- photographs, books, favorite pictures on the wall -- he possessed no tangible paths leading back to his past, or ballast to keep him grounded in the present. All he had now was his uncertain future, which seemed as murky and poisonous as the air in the apartment.

He'd brought a clipboard with paper and pen, and should have been inventorying everything he saw. It was all too much, though. The destruction overwhelmed his senses. He couldn't bear to be there for another second, feeling the soot settle over him and into his pores, so he made a rapid scan of the place, taking mental pictures which he'd write down later. Sometimes, flawless memory brought unforeseen advantages.

Outside he inhaled deep gulps of fresh air and rubbed his fingertips together. He felt grimy and gritty, coated in toxic debris -- even his tongue. He had the urge to cough and cough to clear his lungs. Although he'd been in there for barely fifteen minutes, he needed a shower. With nothing else to do, he headed for the subway station to return to his hotel.

 

******

 

"How's the construction coming?" Harvey asked him as they walked in the main door of the building together, having run into one another at the bagel cart in front. It had been two weeks since the fire, and he'd noticed that Mike still seemed to alternate between only two suits.

"They haven't started yet. They've nearly cleared everything out, and the demolition is supposed to start in about a week, as soon as they get the permit. Turns out they need to apply for a different permit, every step of the way." He yawned hugely. "It's slow going. Don't believe those speed makeovers you see on HGTV."

Harvey nearly protested that he didn't watch that channel, but it would have been a lie. _House Hunters International_ was his go-to mindless television. He'd seen plenty of makeover shows, too, which always depicted the transformation as taking place in record time. "How's your hotel?" he asked as they got on the elevator.

"Nice, but … "

"But?"

"If the rebuild takes as long as I now think it will, the relocation money's not going to last. I'm thinking of looking for a cheaper alternative."

Harvey opened his mouth, only to immediately close it again with a near audible snap. He'd been about to offer Mike a place to stay, without taking the time to consider the possible consequences of a few months of Mike sleeping on his couch, using his bathroom, eating at his breakfast bar. Harvey knew from firsthand experience that Mike was not a messy person, but that enforced closeness for who knew how long – that’s what sounded messy.

His feelings for Mike were complicated. He'd been his boss since they’d known one another. After Mike returned from Sidwell, they'd worked together less often, but Harvey was a name partner, and so technically still Mike's boss. Not being in the habit of lying to himself, he could admit that he'd experienced an immediate, visceral attraction to the wild-eyed kid with the briefcase full of pot who had come barreling into the associate interviews a few years ago. Then Jenny had appeared. And Tess. And Rachel. And Harvey firmly set aside any thought of starting something with Mike, had firmly closed the door and locked it up tight.

If he opened up that door again, would Mike even be receptive? Harvey had sensed a connection and an attraction between them, and he generally trusted his instincts. What if this was just wishful thinking? What if this time he was wrong?

He wasn't prepared to peek behind that door again. Mike obviously wanted a wife and kids. Harvey had given him his dream job; although at the time neither of them had looked far enough into the future to consider the possible repercussions, that dream job had all but destroyed Mike's chances for a normal life. The guilt he felt over his role in that, sometimes made Harvey drink more than he should.

And now, with Jack Soloff's rumblings of discontent, and the possibility of a power play throwing the firm into turmoil once more, Harvey could not afford the distraction of a house guest, especially not Mike Ross.

So, as they exited the elevator and turned their separate ways, all he said was, "You'll figure something out."

Which on some level he knew was shitty and dismissive, but shitty and dismissive had served him well enough in the past, even if they were not normally accompanied by an uncomfortable pang of guilt.

 

******

 

Dave, Mike's insurance guy, seemed to have lost interest in his claim. Repeated delays in construction had satisfied him that Mike would use up every last cent of the relocation money, so he issued a cashier’s check for the remainder and informed Mike that he was free to find accommodations which suited him the best. The settlement check for lost personal property, he promised, was in the works and he’d call Mike to let him know when it was released.

Mike’s salary at Pearson Specter Litt would have allowed for him to continue his stay at the nice hotel in Manhattan. The problem was, he didn’t know how much longer he’d be at the firm. If the Soloff-Hardman-Forstman cabal proved successful in ousting both Jessica and Harvey, Mike would not stick around. How could he, without Harvey there? As a result, he was feeling particularly tight-fisted with his money these days.

An internet search found him an extended stay motel in New Jersey, right across the Hudson, for just shy of $400 a week, and within walking distance of the train station. He called and reserved a room for a week.

 

After work, Mike got off the train and made the ten minute walk to the River Studio Motel. He didn’t bother hailing a cab, just adjusted the strap of his duffel bag across his chest, hoisted his garment bags, and set off down the sidewalk. Being mid-October, it was dark already, but street lights and the stream of passing cars made it easy to see where he was going. He imagined himself making this trek every night, sometimes in the early hours of the morning, and grew uneasy. Maybe he should invest in a new bike. He could bring that on the train, and it would shorten the trip to the hotel to just a couple of minutes.

Harvey would give him shit about riding a bike again, but Harvey hadn't been burned out of his home and lost nearly every damn thing he owned. For that matter, Harvey hadn't offered him the slightest bit of assistance, and had expressed precious little sympathy. Surprised by the sudden flare of resentment, Mike stamped it down and walked faster. The fire wasn't Harvey's fault, and Mike wasn't his responsibility. Why was he even thinking about Harvey?

The River Studio Motel was located on a quiet side street lined with maple and elm trees, mostly bare of leaves, and with no river in sight. Cars filled perhaps half of the parking lot, but the only person he spotted was a middle-aged woman out walking a waddling Bassett hound. He nodded at her, and she smiled back. Mike found the office, filled out the paperwork, and paid for the week with his debit card.

“I had an apartment fire,” he explained to the night clerk, who smiled politely. “I might be here for a while. Should I pay you weekly? Monthly?”

“You get a discount if you pay weekly. That’s probably your best bet. Keeps you flexible.”

“Great. Guess I’ll see you in a week, then.”

“Have a nice evening, sir.”

Mike’s room was halfway down the parking lot from the office, at street level. As he approached, he noticed the curtains in the room to the right of his twitch and move a sliver apart. He unlocked his door and gave a soft sigh. Small, but clean. Except for the bathroom, everything was in one room – bed, chairs, small desk, and kitchenette with half a refrigerator, two burners, a diminutive oven, microwave oven and miniscule sink.

“Honey, I’m home,” he murmured, and the words fell empty and flat in the sterile room.

Not bothering to unpack, he stripped down to his underwear and hung up his two suits, reminding himself to phone the smoke cleaning place tomorrow to see if the rest of his suits had been restored to their former, smoke-free glory. He used his cell phone to order a pizza, and turned on the television, flipping through the channels until he found a _Seinfeld_ rerun.

He was half asleep when someone knocked on his door. Certain his pizza had arrived, he grabbed his wallet and opened the door, to find himself faced with a hugely pregnant but otherwise skinny young woman in pink sweatpants and a tight Hello Kitty t-shirt that left most of her pale belly exposed.

“Um,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“I’m your neighbor.” She pointed toward the room directly to his right and then stuck out her hand. “My name’s Patty.”

He took her limp hand in his and pumped it up and down a few times. “Mike.”

Her gaze flicked down to his boxer briefs and bare legs, and back up to his face. “Do you mind if I come in for a while?”

“I’m really just … uh … sure, why not?” He didn’t have anything better to do. If he was going to be here for a while, it might be a smart move to get to know his neighbors. She seemed harmless enough.

He unzipped his duffel and grabbed a pair of jeans, pulling them on with his back to her. As he turned around, he caught her staring at his bottom.

He searched for something to say. “Um. So. Are you staying here by yourself?”

“For now. My husband pays for my room.”

She didn’t look old enough to be married.

“Does he travel?”

“No. Derrick’s just busy all the time.” She wandered around the room, touching the wall, the furniture, Mike's things. "I got things to do, and he checks in on me every couple of days." Her pale green eyes locked in on his face. "You got any weed?"

"No." He looked pointedly at her belly. "You probably shouldn't."

Her face squinched up in a look of chipmunk-like disgust. "Fuck that." She palmed her belly, hand tightening into a claw. "They won't let me keep the little guy anyway." She plopped down on his bed and shoved a pillow under her back, legs splayed wide.

"They?" He didn't want to be having this conversation, but at the same time he found it strangely, hypnotically surreal.

"Yeah. The state. The Man. The powers that be. TPTB." Picking up the television remote, she began changing channels. "Whatever. I got worse habits than weed."

"Ah."

A sharp knock interrupted the brief silence that had fallen, and Patty jumped up off of the bed. "Shit. If that's Derrick, tell him I'm not here." She scanned the room as if searching for a place to hide, hands resting on her protruding belly.

With one eye on Patty, Mike opened the door to find the pizza delivery guy waiting. He paid him, including a generous tip. When he turned around, he found Patty at his shoulder.

"Yum. That smells good." Without waiting to be invited, she took the box from him and took her place back on his bed, removing a steaming slice and lifting it to her mouth, where it paused as she shot him a belatedly guilty look. "It's okay, right?"

He held out his hands. "Sure. Help yourself."

"You got anything to drink?"

"Water?"

She snorted. "You're a funny guy. I meant like, booze. Alcohol."

Mike sat slowly in one of the armchairs near the bed, never taking his gaze off of Patty. He laid claim to a slice of pizza and took a bite as he scrutinized the intruder. She could, possibly, be eighteen, but he didn't think so. To his eye, she looked disconcertingly like a younger, more innocent version of Jenny -- sans the pregnant belly, of course.

"I don't mean to be a jerk about it -- " he began.

She froze. "You asking me to leave?"

"No. No, no, it's fine. I was only going to say that maybe you should think about being more careful about what you put in your body. On account of … you know." He gestured at her belly.

"You got nothing to say about what I put in my body." And then she smiled slyly, mouth still full of half-chewed pizza. "Unless you wanna pay for the privilege."

Had he heard her correctly? "Wait. What? You're saying … "

"Hey, don't look so shocked. You might be surprised. Plenty of guys like to do it with a pregnant chick. I probably owe you a little preview anyway. You know, for the pizza?"

"Um. No. Thank you, though."

She gave him a sharp-eyed look, and then shrugged and seemed to relax. She resumed clicking through the channel selection, finally settling on _Ancient Aliens._ "That guy with the crazy hair is cool. I follow him on Twitter."

"Cool." He spoke the word drenched in sarcasm, which sailed right over her blonde (with dark roots) head.

They watched in silence for a few minutes, then Mike asked, "Is Derrick really your husband?"

"What do you think, genius?"

 

******

 

Mike looked even more wrung out than usual this morning. While he consulted his notes and listed his findings, Harvey took the opportunity to take inventory of him. Messy hair, grease stain on one sleeve, mismatched socks, and alarmingly dark circles under his eyes. This wouldn’t have been unusual during Mike’s early days at the firm, but he’d gotten his act together since then, and here was visible proof of how the upheaval in his life was getting to him.

"Mike."

He looked up, one eyebrow arched in question.

"How's the new hotel?"

A short, sardonic laugh. "You mean Motel Hell?"

"That bad?"

"Oh, let's see. The guy above me has three dogs that howl like banshees whenever he's gone, and he's gone a lot. Three doors down is Angie with the Bassett hound who marks my doormat every goddamn morning. The Bassett hound, not Angie." He frowned. "At least, I think it's the dog. On the bright side, the drug dealers have priced coffee cart guy right out of the market. And the hookers all think I'm adorable. One of them even believes we're dating. So, yeah.   It's delightful."

An unexpected spike of jealousy caught Harvey off guard, and he tried to play it off with humor. "Did I just hear you correctly? You're dating a hooker?"

"It gets better. I'm dating a pregnant, drug-addicted, underage hooker. Who may or may not be married." He gave his head a quick shake, as if hearing what he'd just said. "It's not dating. She comes over every night when I get home and we watch TV and eat dinner while we tell each other about our days."

Harvey should have been amused, but he wasn't. "Be careful, Mike. That could go badly in so many ways."

Mike gave him a tight-lipped head shake, signaling that he was done with the subject. "How did the partner meeting go last night?"

Now it was Harvey's turn to go tight-lipped. "Soloff was an ass, but Louis came through with enough dirt on him to send him crying for his mommy -- or Hardman, as it were."

"What about Forstman?"

"I handled him." Which wasn't entirely true. Harvey had stalled him, at best.

"Handled him how?"

"I made a few promises which I have no intention of following through on."

"Harvey … "

"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing. This is the only way to draw him out and find out how far he's willing to go to bring down the firm."

"The firm? Or you?"

Harvey had thought to postpone this discussion for a while longer, at least until the business of Mike's apartment had been resolved, but it seemed that, as usual, Mike was ahead of the curve. "Mike, I want you to be prepared for the possibility that Forstman wins this round."

"What does that mean?"

"That means, if I have to go, don't panic."

"Don't panic? _Don't panic?_ "

"You're panicking."

"Well, yeah. I have no home, and in a few days I may be out of a job as well. I'd say panic is the rational response." He ran a hand through his hair until it stood up in back like a rooster comb.

"Who said anything about you leaving?"

Blue eyes laser-beamed into him. "You think I'd stay without you? No way."

The declaration left Harvey speechless for a few seconds. "Mike -- "

"I get loyalty. You taught me well. Besides … " His challenging gaze dropped. "I've been thinking about this for a while. Ever since Rachel. Who else can I even trust with our secret? And if I can't be honest with someone, how can I hope to start a family of my own?" He shook his head, and jerked loose the knot of his tie, as if he suddenly could not breathe.   "You may not get it, Harvey, but this is hell, this … this … aloneness. This separation from life. I’m in fucking limbo. I can’t live like this."

"Come on, Mike." Harvey wanted to argue with him, to point out all the ways that he was wrong. The truth was, the firm represented the sum total of Mike's life, and the thought of leaving had to be tearing him apart. "You'll find someone," he finally murmured, sharply aware of how inadequate his attempt at reassurance was. He watched Mike swallow and swallow, as if fighting tears, and averted his eyes to give him time to regain control.

“And anyway,” said Harvey into the awkward silence, “whatever happens, we’ll stay in contact, you and I. We’ll have dinner, catch a ball game here and there.

"Sure," Mike finally managed, and tapped his notes. "So. Are we done here?"

 _No,_ thought Harvey. _Not even close. Definitely to be continued._ Out loud he said only, "Yeah. Touch bases with me before you leave tonight, and we'll finalize our strategy."

With a tight nod, Mike got up and left.

 

******

 

“Tell me more about Harvey.” Patty dug a spoon into the carton of partially melted ice cream that lay on the bed between her and Mike. “He sounds smoking hot.”

He eyed her sideways and gave the comforter a tug, claiming more territory for his chilly, sock-clad feet. “Yeah, you’d probably think so. He’s just … he’s like this … ” Adequate words failed him for a few moments, so he took a bite of ice cream while he marshaled his thoughts. “Harvey Specter is this perfect, impeccable person, who is virtually flawless. His suits are worth thousands apiece, he has his own driver, and this amazing penthouse, and he has Michael Jordan on fucking speed dial for Christ’s sake. At the same time, he gets all of my movie references, and is kind of a nerd.”

Patty giggled.

“That’s right,” Mike continued. “He’s a total Star Trek fangirl.”

“Picard?”

“Kirk.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know, right?” His gaze went unfocused as he considered how else to describe his boss. “More than anything, Harvey is a complete badass. I’ll bet he could talk anybody into … _anything_ , basically. He just, I don’t know, _dominates_ everything and everyone. It’s both beautiful and terrifying. Or it used to be terrifying, back when I was a green little associate, screwing up every two seconds.”

He was so focused on describing Harvey to her that he didn’t even complain when she stole his pillow to shove behind her back.

“You like him,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You want him.”

“ _What?_ ” The word exploded from his mouth in an indignant splutter. “He’s not – I don’t – ” But the truth was, he _did_ , and he was reasonably sure that Harvey _was._ He wasn’t prepared to admit any of that to himself, much less this needy, pregnant teenager who had glommed onto him. “I just work for the guy,” he finished weakly.

“You want him to plow you like a cornfield,” she gloated.

He decided a change of subject was called for. "Are you remembering to take the vitamins I got you?" Buying pre-natal vitamins was the one thing he'd come up with to offer assistance without seeming nosy and being dismissed outright. He feared, though, that the vitamins would prove too little too late for the baby.

Predictably, she ignored him, unwilling to let the subject of Harvey go just yet. “You should totally go for it. Jump all over that.”

If he went the denial route, that would be like blood in the water, and she’d never let it go. So he settled for rolling his eyes and grabbing the ice cream away from her, only to find the carton empty.

“You eat like a starving wolverine. Where are you putting it all?” He made it sound like a joke, but the truth was, he worried about her. Although she had never shot up in front of him, it was obvious that she was still using. Men still came and went from her room, and he’d noticed a steady stream of others who stopped by for a brief drug purchase before slipping off into the night. He hadn’t met Derrick, the maybe-husband, in person, but he’d heard one particularly nasty shouting match between them through the thin motel wall a few nights ago.

“Did you know Priscilla Presley actually lost weight while she was pregnant with Lisa Marie?” Patty arched one eyebrow, daring him to contradict her. “When I pop this kid out, I need to get down to my working weight real quick. Derrick said so.”

Since Mike had met Patty, he’d been continuously telling himself that her life choices were none of his business. He was beginning to detest this Derrick person, though.

Neither of them noticed the headlights that briefly brightened the curtains, or heard the _chunk_ of a car door closing. When the door to Patty’s room opened and then slammed shut so hard the walls vibrated, she sat up straight, dropping her spoon on the bed.

 _”Patty!”_ came a muffled, enraged voice.

She maneuvered herself off the bed and onto her feet, staring at the wall and chewing her lower lip. “Man, he sounds pissed,” she whispered.

Mike set a finger against his lips. “Stay quiet,” he advised softly. “Maybe he’ll go away, and that will give things a chance to – ”

His door burst inwards, wood splintering, the chain on the door tearing loose.

“Ohmygod!” screamed Patty as a bearded man in a hoodie with cut off sleeves pushed his way into the room. “God damn you, Derrick.”

Derrick pointed a finger in her face. “You. Back in your room. You got customers on the way.”

Patty scampered (waddled) out of the room, leaving Mike facing off against Derrick. They were roughly the same height, but Derrick possessed fifty pounds of muscle which Mike did not. The skin that Mike could see was milk pale and liberally covered with tattoos, even the back of his hands. Mike had a close-up view of his right hand, curled into a fist that read _THUG_ , as it sailed through the air and caught him high on the cheekbone. Pain exploded throughout his face. The second half of the matched set, proclaiming _LIFE_ , hit him in the gut. He bent double and stutter-stepped backwards, lost his footing, and slid down next to the bed in a sitting position.

“ _Fuck."_ Mike touched his throbbing cheek. "We were only eating ice cream.” Derrick may or may not have believed him, but he grabbed the front of Mike’s t-shirt, hauled him to his feet and shoved him hard so that he sprawled on his back on the bed. Mike held up his hands defensively. “Dude, seriously, it’s not what you think.”

“I think you’re a punk, and I don’t need you distracting my girl.” The pointing finger reappeared, hovering inches from Mike’s nose. “You keep your distance from now on, understood?” He lifted up the hoodie to show Mike a handgun jammed into his waistband.

The only response that seemed appropriate in the moment was to nod and nod, and keep nodding until Derrick left his room.

Mike collapsed fully onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling and willing his heart to slow down. After a time, when he’d judged that he could speak once more in a normal voice, he picked up the room phone and called the front desk to report his busted door.

In Patty’s room, something heavy slammed into the wall, and something else hit the floor and broke. Mike picked up the phone again, intent on dialing 911, but he heard Patty’s door close sharply. Warily, he peaked outside through a gap in the curtains, and saw Derrick get in his car, start the engine, back out, and leave with a squeal of tires.

Mike flopped back down on the bed. _When had this become his life?_

 

******

 

Soloff called another partner’s meeting near the end of November, just before the four day Thanksgiving weekend. Harvey had spent half the day before at Rikers, negotiating with Forstman. He’d driven there, knowing the likely outcome, and had not been wrong. Forstman wanted his head on a platter, and would cheerfully burn the firm to the ground to achieve his goal.

In the end, Harvey gave in and agreed to resign. His stomach churned as he watched Forstman’s smug smile of victory, and listened to him gloat. Goddamn, it stung. He owed Jessica too much, though, so when Soloff called for the vote to oust her, Harvey played his ace in the hole. Hardman and Soloff’s funding had been terminated, and Pearson Specter Litt would not be losing any clients. The partners voted unanimously in Jessica’s favor, except for Jack Soloff.

After the meeting, Harvey handed his resignation letter to Jessica. It met with resistance, as he’d known it would.

“My mind’s made up,” he said for the third time. “I’m sorry, Jessica. It was the only way.”

“This isn’t over.”

"It is over." He drank deeply from his tumbler of scotch. “Shit. I can’t argue about this right now.” Everything still felt too raw.

“Harvey – ”

“I’m serious.” He sighed. “Give me the weekend to get my head on straight. Let’s have lunch next week.”

Something in his tone of voice must have gotten through to her. She nodded and he left the room.

On the way back to his office, Harvey spotted Mike behind his own desk, hunched over, in the dark except for a desk lamp that threw a circle of light on the documents in front of him. His face was in shadow, but Harvey could still make out the deep scowl which marred it. Harvey’s intention had been to call – or text – Mike with the news of his departure sometime over the long weekend. Something about Mike’s tense posture and the unhappy look on his face caused Harvey to pause, and step into the doorway.

“It’s late, Mike. You should get out of here.”

A short, cynical-sounding laugh from Mike. “And go where?”

Harvey stepped into the room. “It’s a holiday weekend. You should be out having fun.”

Which, in retrospect, was an idiotic thing to say. Fun with whom? His ex-fiancée? One of his former friends? A non-existent family member?

 _Go get yourself laid, maybe,_ he almost said, but decided against it, and in favor a different approach. If Mike was in a gloomy mood, maybe they could be gloomy together. He leaned against the door jamb.

“I turned in my resignation tonight.” Perhaps he shouldn’t have stated it so baldly, with no softening of the news, but it was too late now.

Mike’s eyes widened in shock as he stared at Harvey. He tossed the document he held onto the desktop and leaned back in his chair, completely concealing his features in the shadows. “Shit.”

Harvey could almost hear the gears grinding away in Mike’s head, asking questions and answering them himself in less time than it took Harvey to breathe in and breathe out. God, he was going to miss that agile, flawless mind.

“You should really consider staying on,” Harvey said, and wasn’t surprised when Mike shook his head firmly in the negative.

“No. I already told you I can’t do that. I’ll … is Jessica still here?”

“At least take the weekend to think about it. If you don’t change your mind, you can tell her on Monday. Why give her more bad news to dwell on for the next four days?”

And there was that hard, cynical laugh again. “Bad news? She’ll be jumping for joy, dancing in the streets, throwing a party to celebrate my leaving.”

“I think you’re underestimating her.” Tired of speaking to a shadowy Mike, he flipped on the overhead light and walked closer to the desk, settling into a chair, only to spring to his feet again when he caught sight of Mike’s face. A dark bruise colored one cheek and blackened his eye. “What the hell Mike? What happened to your face?”

Mike winced and lightly prodded his cheek with one finger. “Would you believe me if I told you I walked into a door?”

“What do you think?”

Mike swiveled his chair halfway around, so that Harvey only saw the untouched side of his face. “There was some trouble at my motel last night.” Several beats of silence, and then he swiveled back. “I got punched by a pimp.” The words were delivered completely deadpan, but now one side of Mike's mouth quirked up, as if he had managed to find humor in the situation.

“Did you call the police? File a report? Was the guy arrested?” Harvey felt indignation on Mike’s behalf as he asked his questions, but the kid only appeared more and more amused. “I don’t know why you’re smiling, Mike. This does not sound the least bit funny to me.”

The smile immediately disappeared from Mike’s face, but his mouth continued to twitch at the edges. “I know. It’s just all so ridiculous. One minute I’m sharing a pint of Chunky Monkey with this pregnant teenage prostitute, and in the next her tatted up pimp breaks the door down to take a swing at me. That’s got rom com written all over it.”

“Uh, no. It’s got _Cops: Hoboken_ written all over it.” Harvey had to look away. He never could stand the sight of a battered Mike Ross. Silence stretched between them. “Hey,” said Harvey finally, with a catch in his voice, “unless you’ve got something better to do tonight, why don’t I treat us both to a farewell dinner? We can get drunk, and I’ll have Ray take you home.”

“Farewell,” Mike repeated in a near whisper, sobering instantly. “My least favorite word.”

 

******

 

“Ray is such a good sport,” Mike slurred, slumping next to Harvey in the back seat of the town car. “Ray, I love you man.” He snorted with laughter, resting his head on Harvey’s shoulder. "You should give him the rest of the weekend off."

Harvey shoved Mike off of him, firmly but gently. He probably shouldn't have let him get this drunk -- or shit-faced, not to put too fine a point on it. "I already have. After he gets us home, he doesn't have to see my ugly face until Monday morning."

Mike sat straight up and gawped at Harvey. "Ugly? Dude." He shook his head sadly. "I call bullshit."

"Why? Are you saying you think I'm pretty?" He said it lightly, but the words fell between them with an almost audible clunk. Had he been flirting with Mike Ross? Maybe Mike was wondering the same thing, because he was quiet for a full minute.

"I'm not having this conversation," Mike murmured eventually, staring out the window as the town car navigated the busy streets. "What are you going to do now?" he finally asked, voice soft and sad and not nearly as drunk sounding as it had been just moments ago.

Sleeping for a week was the first item on Harvey's agenda. After that? "I'm still an attorney. I suppose I'll hang out my shingle, build up my own firm. How about you?" He almost wished he hadn't asked when he saw Mike's expression slip from wistful sadness to deep melancholy. Passing headlights slid across his face, deepening and distorting the bruises. He probably shouldn’t push, but he had to know that Mike would be all right. “Have you given any consideration to what you’ll do next?”

"I don't know. I've been thinking about it though. When my apartment is all fixed up, I'll probably sell it. I should get a great price, considering it will be as good as brand new. If I'm careful, I can live off of that money for a good long while. After that? No idea. I've already had my dream job." He finally turned back to look at Harvey. "You gave me that. I'll always be grateful to you."

"You'll find something you enjoy just as much. You have to know that you have about a million options in front of you now. And it goes without saying that I'll give you the best reference in the history of references."

He trailed off, snared by the arrested look on Mike's face, and by the way he let his gaze linger over Harvey's lips. Was this happening, finally? Where they about to share a kiss in the back of his car, on the way to Hoboken, both of them half-drunk and newly unemployed? He swallowed thickly, and watched as Mike mirrored the action, watched him lick his lips, watched his Adam's apple bob up and down.

"Here we are," came Ray's voice from the driver's seat. "Which is your room, Mike?"

The minor spell was broken.

They both turned away and looked out at the motel parking lot on opposite sides of the car.

"One twenty-three," said Mike. "Right up here on the left."

Ray pulled into an empty spot. Harvey saw Mike rest his hand on the door handle, but not make a move to open it. It hit him then: this was it. Separate ways.

Mike must have realized it too. He turned his unfocused gaze to the back of the seat in front of him. "Wow," he said, and gave a small laugh which failed miserably. "It's really over." He turned to look at Harvey, blue eyes suspiciously shiny. "Will we … I mean … " Mike's lips crimped together. "I'll miss you," he whispered.

"Hey." Harvey aimed for a hearty tone, but missed the mark. He set his hand on Mike's knee and gave it a friendly shake. Mike looked even more miserable at the overly familiar gesture, so Harvey removed his hand. "We'll keep in touch. Count on it." His voice had gone hoarse and scratchy.

"Sure." Mike swallowed several times, sounding almost as if he was choking. "Good luck, Harvey."

Mike stuck out his hand, but Harvey slapped it down and grabbed him in a close hug, pressing his face to Mike's neck and breathing in the scent of him for long seconds. It was agony to let him go, like amputating his own limb, but he finally pulled away, watching Mike gravely. "If you ever need anything … "

Mike nodded, looking away, as if he doubted Harvey's sincerity. "Sure," he repeated, and opened the door. "See you around."

He got one foot on the pavement, and Harvey was half a second away from stopping him, when the door to room one twenty-four flew open and a young pregnant woman staggered outside, a look of undiluted panic on her face.

"Mike. Oh, holy shit. Thank god it's you. My water broke. Derrick won't answer my calls or texts, and he didn't leave me any money. I changed into new sweats, but I need to find a hospital, like, right now." Her face contorted with pain and she grabbed her belly, leaning against the wall, hunched over and keening.

Mike hopped out of the car, ran over, and supported her as she rode out what Harvey guessed was an intense contraction. When it was over, she sagged against Mike, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"Let me call a cab," Mike said. "I'll take you to the hospital."

Harvey met Ray's eyes in the rearview mirror and the driver nodded.

"Mike." The other man already had his phone out, but he looked over when Harvey called his name. "Get in. Bring … " He gestured at the girl. If Mike had told him her name, it escaped him now. "We'll take you."

"Oh. That's great." _Thank you,_ he mouthed at Harvey as he got the girl situated in the front seat. "Patty, this is Harvey. And this is Ray. Do you have anything you need to bring?"

She didn't answer him for a few seconds, as she had locked gazes with Harvey, who was busy being shocked at how young and unwell she appeared.

"That's Harvey?" she said, sounding amused, and as if she had temporarily forgotten that she was on the verge of popping out a miniature human. "You're right. He's hot."

The parking lot was not dark enough to disguise the blush that flooded Mike's cheeks. "Patty. I never … that's not what I said."

"It's what you meant. And it's true. I'd do him, if I -- aaaggghhh." She grabbed her belly again.

Harvey hadn't been timing the interval, and he was no expert, but the two contractions seemed alarmingly close together. He was almost glad for the diversion from what had promised to be an awkward detour in the conversation.

"Bag," Patty gasped. "Near my door. Ohhh … stupid baby! I hate you."

Mike darted toward her door, grabbed the bag and climbed into the backseat next to Harvey. "Where's the hospital, Patty?"

"How the fuck should I know?" she wailed.

"Uh, I don't know. Pre-natal care? Childbirth classes? A quick Google search? Do you even have a doctor?"

"No, but Derrick brought me some pamphlets one time. He was supposed to be here and deal with this." She let loose with a lengthy string of profanity which had even Harvey cringing.

He didn't interrupt her until he saw Ray give him a subtle thumb's up. He'd already located the closest hospital, and began backing out of the parking spot. "We'll be at the hospital in a few minutes," Harvey assured her. "In the meantime, I forbid you to give birth in this car."

"No promises. _Oh, crap._ Drive fast, Ray." Her high-pitched screams filled the car's interior

 

******

 

Harvey had sent Ray home, but stuck around with Mike, sitting next to him in the waiting room through the long night and into the morning, taking turns making trips out to the hallway for more coffee. The pleasant, mellow buzz Mike had achieved over dinner had long since dissipated, replaced with jittery anxiety. Was Patty all right? How was the baby? Would Derrick show up unexpectedly and misconstrue Mike's presence?

He glanced over at Harvey, who appeared to be scrolling through messages on his phone.

"Harvey, you didn't need to stay." He felt as if he'd been repeating that all night.

Harvey looked back, one eyebrow raised. "Neither did you."

"Fair point."

"Why did you stay?" Harvey was looking at him curiously. "Have you gotten that close to her?"

Mike shook his head. "No. We kept each other company, that's all. She didn't have anyone -- besides Derrick." He grimaced, thinking about that tatted up nightmare.

After a minute or two of silence, Harvey said, "And you didn't have anyone either."

Mike wanted to deny it, but what would be the point? If he'd had anyone in his life who gave him more than a casual, passing thought, why was he staying at the River Studio Motel in Hoboken, and not cozied up in someone's spare bedroom, or on their couch? He'd avoided thinking about it for the nearly two months since the fire, but now the realization hit him hard, filling him with sudden, sharp grief for all the people who had exited his life one way or another.

He didn't even have their photographs any longer, or _things_ , like that ugly panda print he'd gotten from his grandmother. Here he sat, jobless, homeless, with no family, and the last person he could call a friend sat next to him, probably frantically checking train schedules so he could get himself back to the city and put this night behind him.

Mike didn't bother responding to Harvey's observation. He stood abruptly with a muttered, "I need some air," and hurried out of the room and into the hallway, meaning to take the elevator down to street level. Instead, he took a wrong turn and found himself in front of the newborn nursery. Red squalling faces and tiny, balled up fists swam in front of his vision. Hardly realizing what he was doing, he stepped up to the glass and wiped tears from his face. If things had progressed with Rachel, maybe …

He shook his head impatiently.   Nope. It hadn’t been meant to be. With his whole life built upon a lie, nothing ever could have worked out with her. He touched the glass, wondering what it would be like to hold one of the little creatures in his arms, and to know that he was responsible for every single aspect of their life and well-being. A pit of loneliness opened up inside of him, so deep and so cold that he shivered. He started to turn away, but a door inside the nursery opened and a nurse wheeled in a new addition -- an impossibly small thing with a blue knit hat, wrapped in a blanket, and with an oxygen mask over its face.

He waited until the nurse had gotten the infant settled in place, and then tapped on the glass to get her attention. She exited the room and came out to speak to him.

"That new one," he said. "Is that Patty's?"

"Patty?"

"Sorry. I don't even know her last name. Young. Blonde. Too thin. Heroin addict." He wilted a little under her direct and scornful gaze. "I brought her here. I don't really know her, except she was my neighbor."

"Are you the father?"

"No."

"Then I'm afraid I can't give out any information about the child's medical condition."

Mike didn't need to be told. He'd looked it up, all of the possible problems this child was going to have, now and far into its future. "What about Patty? Can you at least give me her room number?"

"Sorry. She's already checked herself out, against medical advice. One of the other nurses dropped her off at the front entrance and some scary looking guy covered with tattoos picked her up."

Mike's heart sank lower. "What about her baby?"

"She signed over all of her parental rights. If he makes it, he'll go into the system, maybe get adopted. After he goes through withdrawals, that is." She gave him an assessing look. “Have you and your partner ever considered adoption? There are fewer hurdles with a special needs child, but it would be a lot of work on your part.”

“My partner?” She must have seen him in the waiting area with Harvey. “No, he’s not … he’s my, uh, my … ” Mike’s mental gears spun as he tried to name what Harvey was to him now. Not his boss. Not his colleague. “He’s my friend.”

“Oh, well, it was just a random thought. One never knows. And frankly, you’re the only one who has shown the slightest interest in the poor little thing.”

He laughed nervously. “Sorry. I’d never pass the vetting. I’m unemployed, temporarily homeless, single. Your basic trainwreck.” His eyes tracked back over to the tiny bundle in the nursery. “He’ll be taken care of though, right? Someone will step up?” He should leave and never look back. This wasn’t his problem. That kid, though. Mike knew what it felt like to be an orphan. He, at least, had his parents for ten years. What chance would a defenseless, drug-addicted infant have in this world? Tears had begun leaking from his eyes again, and he brushed them away.

The nurse set a hand on his shoulder. “You look exhausted. You should go home and get some sleep.”

 _Homeless, remember?_ He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“I’ve got rounds, so … take it easy.” She started to walk away, but paused and turned back. “You know, we can always use volunteers.”

“Volunteers?”

“To sit with the drug babies. To hold them and soothe them through their withdrawals. We’ve found it helps their chances of survival to have that simple human contact.”

He hesitated. The nurse probably knew a sucker when she saw one, and he had ”sucker” written all over him. _Walk away,_ he lectured himself. Instead of following his own instructions, he heard himself asking, “What would I need to do? To sign up for that.” He could already picture himself in a hospital gown, with gloves and mask, slouched down in a rocking chair with the warm little bundle on his chest.

“Go to the nurse’s station and ask for an applica – ” Loud beeping interrupted her and her head swiveled back to the nursery, where two nurses and a doctor swarmed around Patty’s orphan. “Shit. He’s coding.” She raced back into the room and joined the fight to save the life of the child.

 

******

 

When nearly an hour had passed and Mike had not returned, Harvey went looking for him. He wasn’t in the hallway, or in the nursery, where a group of solemn-faced nurses were straightening up a corner of the room. He rode the elevator down to street level and walked outside into a breezy, overcast morning. Mike had claimed a bench halfway down the building, sitting with his head down and his hands hanging loosely between his knees.

Harvey hesitated, not sure if Mike wished to be disturbed. He strolled slowly towards him, making sure Mike saw him before he got there. He sat down next to him on the bench. “Was it something I said?”

“Hm? No.” Mike sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I’m just tired. You ready to get out of here?”

“Did you want to check on your friend first?”

“She’s gone.” He sighed again, long and silently. “The baby didn’t make it.”

“Shit.” Unexpected anger shot through him. “They should bring her up on charges.”

Mike gave him a weary frown. “What good would that do? The kid’s dead. He would have had a shitty life anyway.”

Harvey couldn’t interpret Mike’s mood. Was he simply tired? Angry at the girl? Angry at Harvey for some obscure reason? “So, what now? Should we get a cab back to the motel so you can pack up your stuff and get out of there?”

“Get out of there? Why would I do that?”

Harvey made a scoffing noise. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s dangerous? Because you got punched by a pimp who may harbor some insane grudge for your interference with his merchandise last night?”

“My god, you can be a cynical bastard sometimes.”

Okay. That blip of anger seemed to be directly squarely at Harvey. “It’s cynical for me to be concerned about your safety? And you were sounding pretty cynical there just a minute ago.”

“Concerned about my safety? Where were you when I moved into that shit hole? Where were you two months ago when my place burned down and I was quite literally homeless? All of this sudden concern seems too little, too late.”

Harvey couldn’t speak for a minute or two as he absorbed Mike’s words and his anger – his absolutely justifiable anger, he realized. Sudden shame and regret filled him at the way he had let Mike down. He stared down at his hands where the hung between his knees. “You’re right. I could have done more. I may be unforgivably late in the offer, but I want to help now.

Mike waved a hand in the air as if brushing away his own words. “Thank you. It’s fine. I’m sorry I jumped all over you.” His lips were pressed into a thin line. “It's just -- I was there. I saw that little boy die. They fought for him – those nurses and the doctor. And that boy – Jesus, he didn’t even have a name – he fought just as hard. His whole body – ” Mike paused and held his hands out, several inches apart. “That big, Harvey. No more than that. And he convulsed and twitched and fought for his life. His hands were clenched into tiny fists. And he screamed … ”

Mike didn’t seem to realize that he’d started crying.

“It’s fucked up, Harvey. Everything is fucked up. The things we do to each other. The pain we deal out.” Choking on his words, he stopped talking and brushed at his cheeks.

Harvey’s heart ached for Mike. The kid always took things so hard. He’d had a rough time of it lately, with the fire, and the uncertainty at the firm. Now Harvey had failed to fight off Forstman, and Mike was paying for that too. He gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Mike, I should have offered you this weeks ago. I’m not sure what stopped me, but I want you to come stay at my place until yours is finished. Let’s go grab your stuff and get the hell out of New Jersey.”

Looking numb and shaken, Mike nodded. “Okay. Okay. Thank you Harvey.”

 

******

 

Mike had stayed at Harvey’s place before, during his first round of troubles with Rachel and the whole Logan Sanders fiasco. Everything looked the same as he remembered – that was to say, _Architectural Digest_ perfect and uniquely uninviting. Harvey had extended the offer, though, and that held more importance than a couch with too many right angles that tortured his spine, or starkly formal furnishings that made him feel as if he should wear his suit and tie at all times.

He shoved his worn (and faintly smoke scented) duffle bag out of sight in the hall closet and collapsed onto the couch. “So,” he said, eyeing Harvey as he hung up his own coat, “what do you normally do on Thanksgiving?”

Harvey paused with an arrested look on his face. “Shit. I forgot. I was supposed to get back to my brother Marcus. He invited me again to have dinner with his family.”

“Oh.” Mike did his best to ignore the tiny stab of hurt this caused. It made no sense, but seeing Patty’s newborn lose the fight this morning had brought the pain of losing Rachel back to the forefront of his thoughts and heart. He’d barely known Patty, and hadn’t known the child at all, had only seen him from a distance through thick, double-paned glass. Why, then, did it feel as if the abrupt loss of both of them had wiped his world empty yet again? Suddenly, he wanted to be alone so that he could process all of those illogical feelings. “You totally should go,” he told Harvey.

Harvey wandered into the kitchen, talking to Mike over his shoulder as he rummaged around in one of the cupboards. “It’s not a big deal. He asks me every year, and every year I turn him down. I’m running out of excuses. It might be time to start recycling them.”

The disclosure made Mike sad for him, and sent his overall mood even lower. “One of these years he’ll stop asking. You shouldn’t take your family for granted.” Because they could disappear in the blink of an eye. No one knew that better than him.

Carrying a bottle of scotch and two glasses, Harvey joined Mike on the couch. “After the night we just had, I’d probably pass out face first in the mashed potatoes. There’s always next year.” Mike gave Harvey a pointed look, which he deftly ignored, holding up the bottle. “I know it’s still morning, but we’ve been up all night. I’m going to have a drink and go to bed for a few hours. Want to join me?”

Mike knew what Harvey meant, that he was only asking Mike to join him for the drink, but some reckless gremlin took temporary control of his common sense. He raised one eyebrow and asked, “Do I want to what, now?”

Mike suspected he’d regret the flirty response later. At the moment, it was totally worth it to see the blush that stained Harvey’s cheeks.

“Join me for a _drink_ ,” clarified Harvey, mouth pinched in what could have been disapproval, or could have been a mighty effort to hold in his laughter.

Was Mike disappointed that Harvey hadn’t escalated the flirting? Maybe. Or maybe Harvey recognized that denial was the better way to go. “Sure, why not,” he said, accepting a glass of scotch from Harvey and then averting his gaze while they each sipped their drinks, neither of them speaking for a few minutes.

Harvey finally broke the not entirely comfortable silence. “What about you, Mike?”

“What about me what?”

“Thanksgiving. Do you have any traditions?”

When his parents still lived, they’d done the whole turkey dinner thing. Afterwards, with just Mike and Grammy, and her putting in long hours to keep a roof over their heads, Thanksgiving meant going out for burgers or Chinese food. Eventually, it meant consuming a bad, institutional version of turkey dinner at her nursing home. The last few years, Mike had spent most of the long weekend at work, getting caught up or reviewing random cases, because one never knew when that sort of knowledge might come in handy.

He’d told himself he enjoyed the silence and solitude.

He was a damn liar, and he knew it.

He didn’t explain any of that to Harvey, simply shrugged, took a drink, and said, “Not anymore.”

There didn’t seem to be much to say after that. Harvey took his drink with him to his bedroom and shut the door. He left the bottle with Mike, for which he was grateful. Between too much bad coffee and too many ugly images and memories filling his head, the oblivion of Harvey’s expensive scotch was welcome. After perhaps an hour, he felt buzzed enough to stretch out on the couch and close his eyes without feeling in danger of relieving the scene in the nursery.

 

******

 

Harvey got up around three to find Mike still sprawled on his couch, snoring loudly. He’d dressed for a run, in sweats, t-shirt and hoodie, and let himself out of the condo as quietly as possibly, so as not to wake Mike up.

The sun was out, although the air remained chilly, and an occasional breeze whisked and whirled through the city streets, causing him to shiver for the first few blocks, until he began to warm up. He’d wanted to clear his head, to not think about anything but the slap of his shoes on the pavement and the working of muscle and sinew and the pumping of blood through his body. He couldn’t keep the thoughts away indefinitely, though. It still seemed unreal that he’d left the firm. He did not regret his decision, but it hurt like hell, and would likely continue to hurt for a good long while.

He suspected that Mike did not believe that Harvey understood how it felt to lose your family in a single, swift blow. He did, though, in a sense. This was twice now. The first time, when he’d found out about his mom’s serial infidelity, he’d lit the match himself and thrown it at his parents’ feet and … _whoosh …_ Everything was gone. No one had died in that conflagration, but nothing had ever been the same afterwards.

He’d built his second family with Donna and Jessica and Louis and Mike – even Rachel, albeit reluctantly. Rachel was the sister he resented but tolerated for the sake of family.

This time it had been Forstman who held the match. He forced Harvey to take it against his will, and to toss it at his own feet, and … _whoosh …_ all gone again. And once again, no one had died, but … He gave his head a brisk shake. If no one had died, why did he feel so hollowed out with grief? His pace slowed then, first to a trot, then a walk, and finally he had to stop, bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard, chest heaving spasmodically, alone on the now dark, deserted sidewalk.

After a few difficult minutes, he got himself under control and turned around to run home. Somewhere during that return, with sweat making his shirt adhere to his back, and his breath rasping in his ears, everything began to grow clearer, and a picture of what he wanted the future to look like took shape in his head.

Back home, he found Mike awake, watching a movie on television – something with car chases and fiery explosions. Mike glanced up and smiled at him.

“Hey,” said Harvey, surprised at the way his spirits lifted at the sight of Mike on his couch.

“Thanks for letting me sleep.”

“Sure.”

“I got hungry, so I’ve got a pizza coming. You’re welcome to share.”

“Maybe just a slice or two. First I'm going to take a quick shower.”

Showered and dressed in pajama pants and t-shirt, Harvey went to the kitchen to grab two bottles of beer, brought them back, and settled in to watch the rest of the movie with Mike. He found it difficult to remain focused on the car chases and fist fights and gun battles.

“They make it look so cut and dried,” Mike said after a time. “Like it’s nothing, just another plot point.”

“Hm?” Harvey hadn’t been paying close attention to the movie. He’d been busy formulating his plans for the future.

“They blow up someone’s home. A few seconds later, it’s nothing but ash. They never show what it takes to rebuild, or the grieving you do for what you’ve lost.”

Harvey wasn’t sure how to respond, and settled for a soft grunt which could be interpreted in any number of ways.

The pizza arrived, and Harvey discovered he was hungrier than he’d thought. They ate in comfortable silence, each of them had another couple of beers, and then the movie came to an end. As the credits rolled, Harvey glanced over at Mike. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back, and his mouth hanging open. A soft snore ripped into the silence between them and Harvey smiled. He stopped smiling as he noted how the bruises on Mike’s face stood out starkly against his pale skin. In addition to bruises, he had dark crescents of exhaustion underneath his eyes, visual testimony to the stress he’d been under these past weeks.

Harvey couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t stop studying and analyzing every detail. He realized that they’d spent more time together in the last twenty-four hours than they probably had all year. He couldn’t remember in that moment why he’d been so reluctant to invite Mike to stay with him. It felt right to have him here, and strangely comforting as well. With all of the changes in his life, and the pain and uncertainty that came with them, Mike’s continuing presence provided a center, something tangible to hold onto.

He found himself remembering the hug they’d shared in the car, the solid feel of Mike, and his familiar scent. Sudden longing grew inside of him to hold Mike like that again, to keep him close, trapped against his heart, and he forced himself to tear his gaze away. The last thing he wanted was to do or say something that might drive him away – which was silly, because Mike was asleep. He chanced another look in his direction, only to find Mike’s bright blue eyes open and focused on him.

“Hey,” said Harvey.

Mike blinked slowly. “Sup?”

Harvey shrugged, fighting a smile. “Not much. You doing okay?”

“Me? Yeah. Of course.”

Harvey wasn’t sure he believed him, but he nodded. “I, uh, I think I’ll head to bed. The pillows and sheets and blankets are still in the same place. Make yourself at home.”

“I really do appreciate this, you know.”

“I know.”

“Night, Harvey.”

Harvey gave a short wave as he left the room.

 

******

 

November ended and the year began its frantic, accelerating grind to the finish line. When Mike went into the office on the Monday after Thanksgiving, Jessica took his resignation with grace and just the right note of regret. Whether feigned or not, Mike appreciated the effort. He’d miss Jessica, and Louis and Donna and all the rest of them, but it never would have felt right without Harvey there. And even though his future remained a gaping unknown, the enormous relief he felt at shedding the weight of that awful, dangerous lie gave him a new optimism. His old life was finished, but he now had the opportunity to rebuild it however he chose.

Before that happened, however, he needed to fight off the inertia that kept him anchored to Harvey’s couch. It didn’t seem like that would occur anytime soon.   He felt as if he was existing in limbo, waiting for his apartment to be rebuilt, waiting for inspiration to hit and send him in a new direction that would make him happy and give purpose to his life.

Surprisingly, Harvey didn’t complain about Mike’s inactivity, or even comment on it more than once or twice in passing. By contrast, he was up and out the door early every day, scouting office space and schmoozing clients, both old and new. In the evenings, he sat for hours with his laptop, drafting what Mike assumed were documents for the creation of a sole proprietorship, until he happened to peek over Harvey’s shoulder one night.

“You’re forming a partnership? Who did you poach from Jessica?”

“Nobody. I’ve convinced a few colleagues from other firms to join me.” He raised his eyes slowly from the screen. “Would you like to hear the name of my new firm?”

Without realizing what he was doing, Mike held breath. _Specter and Ross,_ his stupid mind supplied, before reality caught up with him. That was something that could never be, unless they both became accountants, or jewelers, or went into standup comedy. “Uh, sure,” he finally remembered to say. “Who’d you rope in to join you in Thunderdome?”

“How does _Specter, Tanner & Wolf_ grab you?”

“No. Wait. What? As in Travis Tanner and Terrence Wolf? Have you lost your mind? Have they?”

“I think it’s a brilliant move, if I do say so myself. These are the guys who came at me the hardest the last few years. Why wouldn’t I want them on the same side as me? Admit it, it’s a goddamn dream team.”

“More like a nightmare,” Mike muttered, even as part of him was secretly impressed. “Who’s going to act as referee for you and Tanner?” _If I’m not around,_ he thought desolately.

“I doubt we’ll need one. What about ‘same side’ did you not understand?”

“And what about Wolf? Last I heard he was still fighting the good fight in the DA’s office.”

“He was planning to retire at the end of the year, and is looking forward to making some money for a change, which he acknowledges is guaranteed if he comes on board with me and Travis.”

Mike plopped back down on the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You’re probably right, as always. Your firm will be a force to be reckoned with.” He was happy for Harvey. He _was._ At the same time, a tiny worm of jealousy and resentment lodged inside of him. Harvey was moving ahead, and here was Mike, still adhered to his couch like a worthless leech. He lifted the remote. “ _Star Wars_ marathon?” he asked.

“Hm? Oh, no thanks. Go ahead though. I’ve got to get these documents finalized for the signing tomorrow.”

“Need another set of eyes?”

“Nope. Relax. I’ve got this.”

 _Relax._ Sure, he’d relax. It seemed to be what he did best these days.

***

It took a few more days of inactivity for Mike to grow sick enough of his own torpor to get up off the couch and venture out to do something he'd been thinking about since Thanksgiving.

He rode his new bike to the nearest hospital, took the elevator to the maternity ward, and had a brief chat with the RN at the front desk. He filled out some paperwork, left it with her, and three days later he received a phone call informing him he'd been accepted as a volunteer. They agreed on a schedule over the phone, and a week later, he was seated in a small room adjacent to the nursery, masked and gowned and gloved, holding a weak newborn against his heart, rocking his chair slowly, and reciting _Mother Goose_ from memory.

That night, he slept more soundly than he had in months.

A week later, he went online to research nursing schools.

 

******

 

The day before Christmas Mike suddenly picked up the remote and muted the sound on the television. Harvey had just returned from a run, to find Mike watching _The Expendables 3._ He’d been standing in the kitchen flipping through to-go menus, trying to decide what to order them for dinner, when Mike spoke.

“I was just thinking that I might head over to my place and check to see how the work is coming along. Supposedly I have floors and walls now.”

Harvey’s chest tightened with a disappointment that he knew was wholly irrational. Mike must be growing anxious to move on. “Ah. Okay.”

“Want to come with me?”

Without pausing to dissect his motives, Harvey nodded his head. “Sure. Why not? Give me a couple of minutes to shower and change?”

“Yep,” said Mike, unmuting the television. Another showy explosion filled the screen.

 

******

 

“It’s progress I suppose, although not much.” Mike wandered through his apartment, with a flashlight, not bothering to hide his frustration and disappointment. The interior remained essentially a blank slate. Chalky drywall, empty of paint, stretched through the whole place. Two-by-fours nailed to framing comprised the floors. The sharp clean scent of fresh lumber filled his nostrils, which was a distinct improvement over the chemical scent of old smoke.

“I’ve picked out the hardwood floors and trim, and paint colors, and faucets and light fixtures.” He poked his head into the bathroom. “Yep. There are the shower and tub unit that have been sitting in the same spot for three months now. Nothing is hooked up.” He flicked a light switch up and down. “Still no electricity.”

“Maybe one of the permits got delayed.”

“Maybe.” He moved to the living room window and glared down at the street. “God, I hate this. I can’t go back, obviously, and I can’t move forward. I’m in limbo.” He had the sudden urge to give the general contractor a call right now, to rip into him and ruin his Christmas Eve. The guy was probably at home with his wife and kids and parents and cousins and in-laws, sitting around drinking eggnog, singing carols, maybe getting ready to open a present, with a nice blaze crackling away in the fireplace. He slapped his palm against the window frame and turned around to discover Harvey eyeing him closely. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s okay, Mike. You’re allowed to be frustrated. Don’t worry. You can stay at my place for as long as you need to. You know that, right?”

Their gazes remained locked on one another for several seconds. It was next to impossible to read Harvey’s expression in the shadowy apartment, but something in the atmosphere of the room had shifted. “Yeah,” Mike said in a voice gone inexplicably breathless, “I got it.” He walked past Harvey into the empty kitchen area, letting the flashlight play over the walls and ceiling. “I don’t know why I’m so bothered. I was going to sell it anyway.” Feeling nervous for no reason he could name, he ran a finger up and down the drywall, coating his skin with white dust.

He turned around, meaning to suggest that they take off. Harvey had silently closed the distance between them and was right there. Right in Mike’s personal space. So close that Mike would have taken a step back, but the wall blocked his retreat.

“Mike, I … ” He rested one hand near Mike’s head and swiped a finger across his cheek, making him flinch. “You had a smudge of dust on your face.” He brushed at it several times, his movement slowing and gentling with each successive pass. Then it was just his thumb, caressing Mike’s face, rubbing slow, soft circles over his skin.

“You should maybe,” began Mike, but the words got stuck in his throat.

“I should maybe what?”

If he said the wrong thing now, if he misinterpreted what was happening, his rent free lodgings might be in jeopardy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Maybe,” he said, “we should kiss.” As an afterthought, he added, “I dare you.”

He watched, fascinated, as Harvey’s pupils expanded, darkening his eyes even more. He gave his head a subtle tilt. “Challenge accepted.” With that, he closed the remaining distance between them and fit his mouth to Mike’s.

For the first few seconds, Mike was too surprised to accurately judge the quality of the kiss. Then they both sank into it, hands clutching one another and tongues dueling back and forth, mouth to mouth. Mike eventually gave in and let Harvey take the lead, leaning his head back against the dusty wall, shutting off his hyperactive brain, and allowing himself to simply _feel_ for once.

And what he felt was … better than he’d ever imagined. The kiss went on for long minutes, growing more and more heated. The flashlight slipped from Mike’s hand and clattered to the floor, rolling away and shedding its fading light across their feet.

Maybe neither of them was quite ready to take it any further yet, because, as if in sync, they pulled away and stared at one another. They were in almost complete darkness, but Mike could just make out Harvey’s mouth, which looked red and wet, and he was panting hard. He also appeared … uncertain, as if unsure what Mike’s reaction would be post-kiss.

The silence between them lasted too long. Something needed to be said. “That was … ” started Mike, hoping Harvey would fill in the blanks.

Harvey’s expression shifted from near panic to amused, and he asked, “That was what?”

“A good beginning,” Mike finished.

A genuine smile broke out on Harvey’s face, just before the flashlight blinked off, leaving them in total darkness. Harvey’s hand found Mike’s head and touched him in a gesture so tender that Mike felt his heart flip over in his chest.

“I want you to think about something,” said Harvey.

Mike sensed another unexpected veer coming, and raised his eyebrows, even though he knew Harvey couldn’t see him.

“We’re both starting over. As you are aware, I intend to open my own firm, which I have been discovering will require a fair amount of capital up front. More than my initial estimates. I’m not hurting by any stretch of the imagination, but my resources are not unlimited. And … well … I had this idea when I was coming back from my run a few weeks ago.”

The urge was strong to step away and reestablish some distance. Mike didn’t do that. Instead, he nestled against Harvey, the dark making him braver than he might have been otherwise. “I’m done with the law, Harvey. So don’t even ask me – ”

“No, I understand. I mean, I’d welcome you in a heartbeat, but I get that you were tired of living the lie. What I was going to say was, I think I might sell my place too. That would give me the cushion I need to get the firm set up, and not have to worry about cutting corners.”

This was the last thing Mike had been expecting, and it felt as if the rug had been yanked out from under him yet again. “So the promise of a place to live was actually only temporary?” He tried not to sound hurt, but feared he had failed.

“Let me finish.” Harvey’s hand stroked up and down Mike’s back, as if seeking to soothe his worries. “I’d like to propose that we split our expenses. Find a place together.”

For the second time in less than a minute, Mike was caught off guard. He couldn’t help it. He began to laugh – out of relief and joy and undiluted happiness. “Well, damn,” he finally managed, wiping his eyes, “that escalated quickly.”

Harvey grasped his shoulders, setting them apart, and Mike felt as if he would gladly drown in the inky depths of Harvey’s eyes, if he could only see them. He imagined that the spot they occupied would be darker than anything else in the room.

“No it didn’t,” husked Harvey. He spoke with low urgency. “That was the slowest goddamned burn in the history of slow burns. Not anymore, though. We’re going to kick this ember up into a flame, and never let it go out. You got that?” His voice had gone harsh with the intensity of his emotion.

“Yeah,” Mike breathed, and he could almost hear a series of audible clicks in the air around them, as everything shifted, and turned, and slotted right into place, precisely where it had meant to be from the beginning. “I got that.”

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> naias - thanks for being my beta on this!!


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